My Only Friend: The End
by NothingNooneZero
Summary: In life there must be death; for all beginnings there would be an end.


 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Eric Kripke's 'Supernatural'. If I did, well, it would end a little something like this…

They were promised Heaven; they were dragged through Hell. Through it all, they had each other, and right here, right now, it was no different.

"Sa-Sammy? You hear me?" Dean wheezed out. There was a bout of silence. "Sammy?!" Dean said, trying his best to move towards Sam.

"Dean?" His reply was soft, shaky; vulnerable. Dean coughed a chuckle.

"You alright there, baby bro?" He couldn't see properly but he continued to blindly search for his brother.

"Dean, I do-don't know." There was a pause, followed by a grunt. "I don't think so." Dean's eyes narrowed and he doubled his efforts, trying his best to block out the pain that was threatening to consume him. "Dean?" Dean could almost see a younger Sammy: a Sammy who would wake him up in the middle of the night, on the verge of tears and scared out of his mind, barging into his room and crawling under the covers beside him. Dean shook his head. He didn't like that voice. It broke him each and every time his brother used it; made him feel useless. Sure, he kept him safe and sane while he was with him, but each night Sammy would return because Dean wasn't strong enough; he wasn't able to keep the monsters away for good. Not this time. He couldn't let it happen again this time.

"Hey, Sammy, I need you to talk to me okay? Think you can do that? I can't see a damn thing." He stumbled, falling to his knees before pushing himself back up, hunching over but making his way through the darkness. "Shit." He cursed quietly.

"D-Dean?" Dean knew that he was walking in the right direction, so why did Sam sound further away?

"I'm gonna need you to speak up Sammy; can't hear ya properly. You know I hate it when you mumble." He let out a strained chuckle. "Fuck!" He hissed out, his legs beginning to buck under the burden of his own weight.

"Dean, I…I can't feel anything." Dean was almost tempted to tell his brother to shut up. This wasn't what he wanted to hear. If that was enough to make his stomach drop, the next sentence his brother uttered practically clawed out his own heart. "Dean? Dean, I'm scared."

 _He was at Bobby's. He was thirteen again, listening at his brother's door as his father explained the basics of how to shoot a gun. Sam was in tears; he was petrified. All Sam wanted was for his father to check the closet and make sure there was nothing in it. Dean waited for his father to finish before entering the room as soon as he possibly could. He gently took the gun from his wide-eyed brothers' shaking hands, placing it to the ground before pulling the younger boy to him for a brief moment._

" _It's alright Sammy."_

" _There's something in there Dean! I can't kill it; I don't want to kill it."_

" _I know Sammy, I know. Here, what I'll do is," he had his brother by the shoulders, holding him at arm's length, "I'm going to tuck you in, okay?" Sam shook his head._

" _No! That things gonna get me."_

" _Nothing's gonna get you Sammy. You know why? 'Cause I won't let it." Sam looked up to his older brother, a look of awe and hope tainted slightly by doubt._

" _Really?"_

" _Come on. Get up there." He gestured to the bed. "I'll check the closet and then I'll lock it; I'll put a chair against it and stay up all night if I have to but you need to get some sleep. Deal?" Sam nodded his head as he made his way to bed. Dean tucked him in. "Ain't nothing gonna harm you; not while I'm alive, not even when I'm dead. I'm your big brother, got that?" Sam smiled at him and Dean stood, making his way cautiously to the closet, the lessons his father taught him being put to practise._

" _All clear Sammy." He closed the doors and locked them, tucking the key into his pocket in an overdramatic way, eliciting a giggle from the youngest Winchester. He smiled at that. This was how a child was supposed to be raised; this was how Sammy should always be: happy, smiling, laughing and giggling. He frowned at the thought of Sammy being taught the ways of a Hunter. No one should have to be raised in amongst all the evil that Hunters encountered. He shook his head, picking up the chair from Sam's desk, placing it in front of the doors and settled down._

 _It was going to be a long night…_

It _was_ going to be a long night, if it was night that is. After their last battle he couldn't be sure whether or not the sun actually existed anymore. Hell on Earth was one thing but what they had to contend with not even an hour ago? Demon's, Hell hounds, Leviathan's; even psychopathic, God-like Castiel had nothing on the reign of terror that had been bestowed upon the Earth and its inhabitants. It had been an unadulterated, immeasurable force of chaos, ruin and a hate so strong it had Demons and Angels standing shoulder to shoulder, prepared to fight as one. Though none of that mattered and not a single thought was given to the events that had just barely occurred, not when Dean finally found his brother.

"I think…It's the end Dean; we did it." Dean's vision slowly cleared as sunlight crept through the crevices, dimly lighting the surface of Earth. His elation at the thought of no longer having to fight; no longer having to struggle with the burdens placed upon his shoulder, was cut short when he glimpsed his brother. He fell to his knees, ignoring the sound of bone meeting the splintered floor boards, as his right arm, trembling, traced his brother's face.

"Hey, uh, remember that time at the arcade? Seventeenth win in a row; nearly broke the shop record-" Sam gave a small chuckle.

"Until…until that girl…what was her name?"

"Lucy Pernelli." Dean supplied.

"Y-yeah, Lucy. She came u-up to you; dis-d-distracted you…" Sam tried his best to smirk. "T-then beat t-th-the score tenfold... using your credit."

"She cheated me out of that; that was unfair." Dean argued half-heartedly.

"Ju-just because you don't use yo-your brain."

"Hey, I use it just fine."

"Like the time…you took that dare… The 'five-day rule' one?"

"I wasn't able to leave the bathroom for one day Sammy; it wasn't a big deal." Dean shrugged. His eyes kept drifting to the metal that was protruding from his brothers' chest; his hands itching to remove it, to do something but he knew, _he knew_ , there was nothing he could do; not a single thing.

"Two weeks m-more like it." Sam smiled at the memory, closing his eyes. Dean tried his best to listen to his brother as the younger Winchester continued to reminisce, dredging memories from a time long forgotten but his eyes just couldn't seem to stray from that metal bar. The light from the barely dawning sun caught the object, glinting in the rays and catching his eye for the umpteenth time. He wasn't sure he could do this. Sam was supposed to survive, that's what all this was for: for Sammy. The younger brothers' eyes fluttered open, meeting Dean's. "I-it's okay Dean." Dean's thoughts were thrown into turmoil at the attempt of reassurance.

"How the Hell is any of this okay Sammy?" He whispered harshly to his brother. "How?!" Sam just smiled sadly at his older brother. The man kneeling beside him would never understand, never accept, that he was everything to him; that his best was more than enough. Anytime, anywhere and for anything, Sam knew that Dean was there; always. He just wished that he could have told him, could have returned that, but he was never as strong as his older brother and look where that landed him: an ex-blood junkie, lover to a Demon, Lucifer's vessel and the one that was destined to ruin lives, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in his wake. He couldn't help Dean when he needed him the most; threw everything Dean had ever done for him in his older brother's face. He didn't even look for him…

"I…I'm s-sorry Dean." Dean levelled a stern look at him.

"No…No Sammy. You got nothing to be sorry about. This," He gestured to their surroundings, "this is all on me." Sam attempted to shake his head. "Sammy, you're…" _dying_. He couldn't say it out loud, that would have made it too real but the knowing look in Sam's eyes, the acceptance of what was to come was enough to know that his brother knew exactly what he was saying. "You're gonna be okay Sammy." He said instead. "I just need you to hang in a little bit longer for me. Nothing that can't be fixed, right?"

"G-got some duct tape?"

"It does wonders Sammy. Best remember that." He really couldn't do this; he couldn't watch his brother die. He placed a hand on Sammy's and felt the slightest amount of pressure.

"You know," Sam began, his voice sounding stronger for but a moment, "I wouldn't change anything; not a single thing. We've…we've done some crazy things: fighting Vampires and Werewolves, taking on Heaven and Hell… We saved so many lives. Wanna know the best part though?" Dean nodded at him, knowing he wouldn't be able to speak. "I got to do it all with my big brother by my side." Dean broke. He couldn't hold the tears back any longer. Sam smiled up at him. This was it; this was the end. "Thank you Dean."

"Sammy?" His brother closed his eyes. "No. No, no, no. Sammy?!" His grasp on Sam's hand tightened but he felt nothing in reply. His eyes wildly scanned his brother's body, narrowing in on the lack of movement from his chest: he wasn't breathing. This couldn't be happening. It should have been him lying there, not Sammy; never Sammy. He cradled his brother's head in his hands, brushing the ridiculously long hair out of his face. "Sammy?" His voice cracked. "Don't go." It was a helpless plea and he knew it, but if there was any chance that Sam could hear him… "Don't leave me. Please just, just come back." He gently laid Sam's head on the ground, taking off his jacket and making a pillow out of it. He stood then, began pacing, trying to understand what was happening; what had just happened. He couldn't make sense of it. It was never supposed to be like this. He stopped abruptly as a stray thought made its way to the forefront of his mind. If anyone could help him, if anyone was willing to, it would be Castiel. He called out for him but no matter how loud he screamed, Castiel never answered his call.

''

His throat was hoarse; his body broken and failing him. He knew he would be joining his brother soon. He laid there on the ground, staring up at the sky through the gaps in the roof above. Why the Hell should everything work out fine for everybody else? Where was their happy ending? All the sacrifices they made, all the lives they had saved and for what? To die in the only home they'd ever known; the only safe place they'd ever had, with his brother's corpse laying opposite him?

It had to be mid-morning, nearing twelve in the afternoon if the position of the sun was telling him anything. It seemed ironic, that on the darkest of days the rays of the sun were unrestrained; that the sky was a glorious blue and that life, all around him, was thriving. He was taken back, once again caught up in a memory from a lifetime ago. He closed his eyes and remembered the good times; remembered himself and his brother playing tag, exploring Bobby's house and sweeping the remains of broken glass under the numerous book shelves; of his Dad and his Mum before that night; of what could have been and what was.

"I'm sorry Sammy; I'm so damn sorry." He closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I love you." He whispered, placing a kiss on his brother's forehead, then, with what little strength he possessed, he moved, propping himself up against that damn closet like he had so many times in the past. After all, he had promised he'd watch after him, protect him. He'd keep watch; he'd make sure that nothing got to his little brother: even in death.

''

It was a while later that his eyes began to lose focus; that his heart slowed its beating. His head lolled backwards, hitting the door with a soft 'thud'. He grunted, adjusting his head so that his brother was still in his line of sight. He was reluctant to let death claim him but he knew, he just _knew_. With his brother gone, what more was there to live for; what more was there to fight for?

He hated 'goodbye's': that word just seemed so finite. He couldn't ever let Sam go. So with a last struggled breath, his final words were but a soft whisper.

"'Night Sammy."

''

 **Authors Note:** So I, uh, hope you enjoyed…Okay, that's not the best term to use but you know what I mean. Anyway, there is an extended edition if you're interested.


End file.
